


Pet Peeves

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pre-Slash, Shut up the prompt was for coffee shop AU no one is allowed to judge me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8591470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Hux does not believe the tiny dog is a service animal. Also he hates his life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hux is an asshole and dc does not agree with many of his views, especially those regarding dogs. See the end for Adam holding smol puppers.

Hux is a cat person. He tries not to believe in absolutes, horoscopes, or pigeon-holing… but some people are cat people, and some people are dog people. He is cat people. 

Pets should not require more exercise than emptying out their tidy mess, and although an occasional cuddle on the couch _is_ appreciated, they shouldn’t be so obsessed with you that your leaving for work for ridiculously long shifts risks your apartment being trashed. They should be able to survive on their own if you drop dead on the subway, and they should be able to decide if they want to cuddle or not.

Dogs are infinitely more stupid in comparison. Whatever wolf was in their blood, it is now diluted down more than the caffeine content of the seasonal frapped drink. They’re dependent little shits, either so big they could bite your hand for refusing to feed them and eat it instead, or small enough to pierce your eardrums with their screeching.

Like this one. It’s more ears than dog, and that is possibly true of the owner, too. Hux wrinkles his nose at the snuffling one across the counter from him.

“No dogs.”  


“She’s a service dog.”  


“…’she’ is a glorified rat.” Look at it! Fluffy ears and huge eyes. Chihuahuas are even worse, because they’re weird little mutant things that you could sit on by accident and kill.  


The man with the dog more or less papoosed to his front frowns. “Princess is. You think I got her a jacket for fun?”

“Or to sneak her into places she can’t be. I’m sorry, but rules are rules. And a cute little jacket isn’t enough to convince me: you’re not blind, and you’re not deaf, so you can sit outside or you can leave.”  


“…it’s basically frozen outside.”  


“Yes, and? That jacket will keep your rat from dying.”  


Once-warm eyes now turn angry with him. “And you’re really ready to discriminate against hidden disabilities?”   


Phas, next to him, kicks him where the customer won’t see. Hux is already about to relent _anyway_ , because there’s such a thing as being fired, sued, or worse. He needs the income, and frying fake meat for a living would be even less tolerable than serving over-priced bean water. 

“If there’s a disturbance…”  


Hux watches as Finn comes back from mopping up the mess the child in the stroller made. He’s missed the conversation so far, and he immediately goes to pet the dog without checking it’s okay or even seeing if the dog _likes it_. Which - you know - that’s how you _lose your fingers_. 

(In this case: to licks that cover his whole hand and a tail that wags so hard the thing’s entire body wiggles like a worm. Disgusting. The animal’s little paws come up to pull his hand back in when he tries to pull away, and her owner smiles at Finn.)

Phas takes the customer’s order, and Hux goes out to do some important ‘stock taking’ (read: scream into his hands). He’s angry he’s having to back down, and the man is just… ugh. He just really hates admitting he was wrong, and something about the guy has his blood at boiling point.

When he comes back in, he sees the guy’s settled down with his overly-sweet drink. The dog he has is smaller than his damn _hands_ (which are coincidentally way, way too big) and Hux wonders if he’s ever afraid he’ll crush it. Her. Whatever.

Finn and Doph are doting on her, and Hux’s teeth grind as he pushes pastries with metal tongs. He doesn’t need to, but there’s nothing to blend furiously with ice yet, and he growls to Phas that the next frap is his for ‘therapy’ reasons.

“If you’re going to imagine the dog in the blender…”  


“What?” He glares at her. “I’m not about to imagine doggy murder. Just… doggy far away from me,” he adds.   


“You’re just mad the hot guy likes dogs, and Millicent won’t approve.”  


“He is not hot.” He is. All tall, strong-shouldered frame. Artfully tousled hair. Features that are so bold and striking that they would look wrong if they weren’t all together. The very extremes of his face only work because _all_ of him is.  


And Hux is absolutely not annoyed that he’s engaging the younger members of his staff in happy conversation, with the rat as the ice-breaker. 

He snaps a wooden stirrer.

“You need to get laid,” Phas says, checking her hip to his.   


“I need to finish school,” he replies. Then he can stop having to be polite to customers, and their dogs. No matter how well-behaved the pair of them are.  


(Or how hot one of them is, and it sure as hell isn’t rat-princess.)

When the man finally leaves, Hux lets out a sigh of relief. Hopefully that’s the end of it. No one in their right mind would come back after that uncomfortable outburst.

Hah.

The next day, there he is. It’s even colder out, and the little dog is sitting almost engulfed by the man’s coat pocket. She cocks her head at him curiously, either oblivious to his seething hatred, or indifferent.

Her owner makes way more eye-contact than is strictly necessary, and orders the same drink. This time with a cake.

Hux tries to ring it through without looking down, without breaking that eye-contact, but eventually he has to. _Fuck_. He insists the items will be brought over for him, and contemplates suicide by milk frother.

When Phas comes back from her delivery, she tucks a napkin in his back pocket.

“What the fuck, Phas?” He makes sure no one hears his obscenity who might object, the lingering smell of onions forever in his mind.  


“His number. Don’t worry, he says he’s met worse than you in group therapy.” Phas pats his ass, and winks. “Call him.”  


Yeah. 

Millicent wouldn’t sit on his lap for a month after the last guy with a dog. Although, come to think of it, that guy had been a _douche_ , so maybe it was the owner more than the man.

“Did you check if he’s allergic to cats?”  


Phas rolls her eyes. “Ask him when you text him.”

She knows him far too well.

It turns out he is not. Which means there’s no excuse not to go for a cheap meal after work one night, and Hux has to admit anyone who’s prepared to try dating him after _that_ introduction really _is_ crazy, but possibly the kind of crazy he wants and needs. Cheap fries and shakes it is, then…

(Millicent does not mind one bit.)

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
